Eons ago, when the stars
where just learning
their place in the sky
A whisper was sent out
crossing over the centuries
I heard it through your eyes
telling me to open mine
and allow those blue swirls
to color paintings in my life

You’ve spent your life afraid
that you would never be enough,
or that you would be too much,
but Darling, my love,
you are just right for me.
Balance, perfection, completion,
connection.
We were made to fit into each others missing pieces.

.
     I stare down at the plate of toast and beans
     wondering why this was never part of my dreams.
     Looking for the future with an illusional pretence,
     hoping good apples will fall on my side of the fence.

And as the fork dances slow
around the legumes in spirals,
the tedium of a wasting life
bears the burden and scars
of missed opportunities in paralysis
and the colour of once bright lights
          glow black,
shining a shadow into the void
covering the bruises
that were once achievements of worth,
     now tender patches
          of failure.
I drop the fork ...

     … pushing away the plate and leaving food uneaten,
     my desire for its nutrition fought and beaten,
     Looking at the apple tree with sombre regret
     maybe its fruit will fall and save me yet.

And disappointment
is worse than anger,
it begins with the stench of loss
the nasal whiff of
what if …

And what if the little apple tree
drops all its fruit down to me?
Would I recognise fortune on my side
or fear the illusions and run to hide?


© Pagan Paul (17/02/18)

August burned quickly, incipient nostalgia
prematurely vanished, mellow and gentle
sea stone on the tiled table, cedar plank
with fish, sunset through the eye-slit window

thigh high in life and riding wherever life
takes me like a hopeless romantic